


in the daylight anywhere feels like home

by vestara



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Kid Fic, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-18
Updated: 2012-06-18
Packaged: 2017-11-08 00:13:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/436982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vestara/pseuds/vestara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Molly tells Greg she's pregnant. (Extreme fluff.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	in the daylight anywhere feels like home

Greg has never even considered the thought of having children until the day Hamish Holmes-Watson is born. He and Molly exuberantly accept the role of godparents; Sherlock gingerly places the dark-haired bundle into Molly's arms as if his hours-old son is made of glass, and her smile is positively giddy. There are tears welling up in her eyes as she kisses his impossibly soft hair and slips a finger into his tiny curled fist. Greg feels like his stomach has flipped five, no, maybe eight times in those few seconds. 

One night, several weeks later, they're babysitting on Baker Street so that the lad's poor fathers can get a few hours of sleep. Greg's quietly walking back up the stairs with takeout when he hears Molly _singing_. The woman who single-handedly dragged him from his bottomless pit of despair two years earlier is wearing her hair down and singing an asinine lullaby to an attentive infant. Her song is punctuated with soft laughter when Hamish reaches up and tries to grab her left earring. Greg's sure he is going to have a heart attack _right now._

Molly looks up. "He's stopped fussing," she says, as if that's a way of explaining the look of shock crossing her boyfriend's features. Greg blinks, remembers to nod, and comes over with their food. She settles into his side as they watch almost-muted telly, and while he usually likes to spend as much of his evening touching Molly as humanly possible, he's never wrapped an arm around her while she's cooing to a sleeping baby before. He's never felt the gentle shifting of her head against his shoulder while she's rummaging for a bottle.

After that night, it becomes a serious problem. He watches Molly correcting papers for a colleague, and imagines a tawny-haired little girl eagerly interrupting her with science questions that Greg could never wrap his mind around. They bundle up to go on evening walks and he wistfully thinks about prams and babies in adorable jumpers. Then it's Easter and they're having brunch with Greg's brother when his nephew begs Molly to come color with him, and she and the stupid kid draw Greg a surprise drawing of the cutest goddamn flock of ducklings he's ever seen and it makes him earnestly consider writing JUST KILL ME on his forehead in permanent marker. 

\---

It's a warm Sunday afternoon. Hamish is three months old and they watch him for an entire weekend; John's attending to Harry after another relapse, and Sherlock's come down with a flu. After handing him and the baby bag back to John, Greg closes the door, and they can both feel the heavy silence.

"Flat feels a bit empty, ha," Molly states in her special I-swear-I'm-not-sad-please-listen-to-how-happy-I-am voice. Greg's brow furrows in concern and he blurts out, "Do you want kids?" and her expression lights up and she grins and then _he_ grins and she buries her face in his chest.

\---

Neither have the highest hopes for an easy conception. They plan to go six months of trying before looking into adoption.

"Your breasts are notably larger," Sherlock declares immediately after strolling into her morgue only eight weeks after they've stopped using birth control. "Congratulations."

Molly nearly drops her tools into the cadaver's open incision. "They--? What?" She shakily sits down and throws a hand over her mouth.

"You're three-- no, four weeks pregnant. An extremely prime time for miscarriage. You probably shouldn't get too attached." He lifts up a hand. "Don't call me names for assuming you're pleased and won't be seeking an abortion. Judging from the massive bloating and under-eye circles, you've already cut out caffeine in anticipation of this," his face twists, "biological event."

She's never been so happy to have her looks deduced.

\---

Sherlock's right, of course, he always is; she hasn't even missed a period yet. She feels too shy to say anything.

"Wine?"

"None for me, thanks." She tries to cut the smugness from her tone.

Greg shuffles around in their kitchen for one red wine glass and one water bottle. "Can it hurt any... um. Chances?" He walks over and puts his feet up on their coffee table.

Molly turns the page of her book. Bites the inside of her cheeks. "Alcohol can hurt implantation, yes."

"Implantation?"

"Of an embryo." She's doing everything she can not to look at him. 

"But you need to be pregnant to have an embryo... you-- you're giggling." All his color suddenly drains. He throws his arms around her and she can't stop laughing and he can't stop whispering "Oh my god" over and over into her hair. They break apart so that he can press his lips against hers. They don't make it to the bedroom.

\---

They're very cautious. They don't breathe a word to their families until her first trimester is over, and Molly doesn't let Sally throw her a baby shower until they find out the sex (which, Molly and Greg decide, is for their knowledge only.) Molly considers it a good haul, but Greg's unsatisfied with the safety of the stuffed dinosaur and the carseat and at least seven other gifts they've received from friends and family. She wakes up the next Saturday to a strange sound and a Greg-less bed, and waddles into the living room to see him cross-armed, staring down their new high chair.

"Look at the seat, Molls. No, really take a look. Jesus Christ. Whole sodding contraption is going to break the minute we put her in it," he's fuming. "What kind of company lets this happen?"

"Sweetheart," she puts a hand on his shoulder, "Were you kicking this chair?"

Silence.

"Safety boards are licensed for a reason," Molly attempts to calm him down. "I'm sure it's fine. You probably shouldn't carry out your own... Um. Research."

He makes a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat. She finally manages to distract him by declaring a craving for waffles. Greg instantly rushes into the kitchen and Molly takes another look at the assortment of baby supplies her loving boyfriend wants to return. Maybe, just maybe, she can talk him into keeping the cute diaper bag from Mrs. Hudson.


End file.
